Yo.

He created two of the biggest movie franchises of all time, wrote eight scripts, generated nearly $4 billion for the studios, and has been spoken of in the same breath as Charlie Chaplin. (Seriously.) Yet Sylvester Gardenzio Stallone gets no love from Hollywood. He's not angry about it. Just a little bruised

It's not easy being Sylvester Stallone.

Say the guy's name and people are more than likely to give you an eye roll. After forty years in Hollywood and fifty films, he's become, for most people, a cartoon buffoon. A punch line.

And I can say, I get it.

I know where you're coming from.

But men, I just want to say this: We are all Stallone.

Think about it: How many filmmakers have created two characters who so neatly embody the conflicting sides that live inside every guy? The romantic and the warrior; the dreamer and the destroyer; the underestimated and the misunderstood; the lonely and the loner; the Rocky and the Rambo. How many people have written—that's right, written, because Stallone, despite the image that he is preliterate, has written eight scripts and been nominated for best screenplay—dialogue and scenes that resonate so deeply with men?

Yes, Stallone is all of us. A guy who gets no respect for what he's accomplished, because the establishment, no matter what he does, will see him as they want to see him.

And yet Stallone is okay with that.

Sly Stallone knows who he is.

Sly—that's who he is. What he is.

Most days, Stallone sits at a desk in a dinky two-story office building in Beverly Hills. It's a run-down building, the paint faded and cracked by the unforgiving sun, the way things in L.A. always seem to dry out after they've been exposed too long. On the front, a sign says Trademark Entertainment. Some time ago, though, someone painted over Trademark, so now it's just plain old Entertainment. Next to the building there's a tiny parking lot where Stallone parks. A man in a vest and a bow tie lets down the chain that keeps other cars out.

I buzz a buzzer—the kind of buzzer you might find in a medical building when going to see a dentist.

"Yeah?"

"I'm here to see Mr. Stallone?"

Gggggzzzz! Click! Slam!

Stallone's office is on the second floor. There's a twentysomething dude/receptionist. The waiting room is orange and lined with detritus of Stallone's movies, like the wrought-iron sign that says Tools—it hangs outside the tattoo parlor in The Expendables, Stallone's new movie, about a band of mercenaries who go to South America and take on a general who is the puppet of a rogue CIA agent. It stars just about every '80s macho man, from Stallone to Dolph Lundgren to Steve Austin to Mickey Rourke. There's even a scene of Stallone with Arnold Schwarzenegger and Bruce Willis.

Stallone's standing behind his desk when I'm shown in. He's wearing black pants, a pale pink short-sleeve shirt, and glasses, the lenses of which are tinted lavender. He's 64 now, but his biceps are still huge, and it looks like there are small snakes under his skin. On the wall behind his desk is a copy of the front page of the New York Post from March 29, 1977. There's a photo of Stallone and the producers of Rocky after winning the Oscar for Best Picture—having just beaten out All the President's Men, Bound for Glory, Network, and Taxi Driver. Stallone's shirt is unbuttoned, and he wears no bow tie; his arms are raised, Rocky-style. The headline: "Rocky" KO's Hollywood.

Stallone squeezes a small plastic bottle and some goo drips into his palm. He rubs his hands together, then shakes mine and says, "Just washing my hands. It's not bubonic plague or nothin'." He gestures toward the couch. That's when I see it: Filling one wall is a bookcase lined top to bottom with action figure after action figure of…Sylvester Stallone. Or rather, as Rambo and as Rocky. It looks like the bedroom bookshelf of a 12-year-old boy—if that 12-year-old boy could somehow collect action figures of nothing but himself.

Let's start with Rocky. My mother took me to see it, and it was just mythic for me. It made a difference in my life.

It certainly made a difference in mine. It wasn't like I went in there with this blueprint for success. I worked on instinct. I wanted a guy who talks like a child, and somewhere in there are incredible nuts of wisdom. But he's one malapropism after another. I'd never seen that in any boxing film. Rocky's about a guy who's just trying to get something out of life. He knows he's a ham 'n' egger. He says, "I'm not even worth giving a title shot to. I'm a joke. But I've got me this girl." That was great. I said, "If we can go there, and the by-product is he happens to fight, there's a movie." If it was just about the fight, you'd be bored.

Do you know what you, Charlie Chaplin, and Orson Welles have in common?

Um…Mediterranean diet?

With Rocky, you were the only three to ever have been nominated for best actor and best screenplay in the same year.

Chaplin wrote me after Rocky. Three people wrote me that I never got over. One was the president, the second was Chaplin, and the third was Frank Capra, when I lost for best actor. Talk about Capra-esque! I said, "Damn, I'm just a guy off the streets of New York. Charlie Chaplin!" And they all identified with my character. Capra wrote, "But take heart, angels make note of things like that. Because it's fitting that the character you created, Rocky, would lose, that other people would take all the glory." I never forgot that.

What did Chaplin say?

Chaplin said, "Rocky reminds me of a little character I used to play. We'd love for you to come to Switzerland and visit." And you know what? I never went. A few months later, he was dead. Same thing with Elvis.

Elvis wrote you, too?

He called and said, "I'd like to screen Rocky. We'll rent the theater in Memphis, and we'll watch the film." And I didn't go. I was shy, believe it or not. And I remember, when he died in '77, I was doing F.I.S.T. So now I try to instill in my children: Grab something when it's offered. I'm not a big believer in reincarnation. I haven't met anyone yet: "Look at me, I was a caterpillar!"

Do you have regrets?

Regrets? There's tons. That is the fuel that keeps me going. It's not success, it's not money. It's regret. I was on cruise control from '85 to '95, and it was my fault. There were a lot of self-inflicted wounds, when I was not doing any original material. I wasn't directing. I wasn't writing. That's not who I am. I wish it was, it'd sure be a lot simpler, but it seems my fate is to be self-generating, produce my own films. I try to direct. That's why I admire Eastwood. Started as an amateur and became an auteur. I'm sorry I didn't adhere to opportunities presented, because I could've done so many things.

Clint controls his own fate.

Clint, I think, is also very clever behind the scenes in maintaining relationships.

In show business, you mean?

Yeah. Like the best one in the world at that is Arnold. There's no one in the world close to Arnold Schwarzenegger. He is a phenomenon. He's brilliant. Just because his physique belies that, don't underestimate him. He doesn't walk around like a college professor, but he is smart. He always made sure he was at the right parties. And Clint is extremely clever in that rural "one day at a time" thing: "Okay, I don't want to do another Harry, but it's going to give me that opportunity down the line."

You're kind of like that.

I knew that when all else fails, when your career is going down a generational vortex—where you have a new crop of moviegoers that don't embrace you the way the prior generation did—the one X factor is a sequel. "I know I'm pushing 60, and Rocky V was considered the worst, but give me one more!" What was once the bane of our existence, like, "God, we're typecast," it's what gave us a second shot.

You never felt imprisoned by those roles?

I used to. Now I'm elated, like, "Jesus Christ, I've got backup!" It's two good buddies who've got your back. And whether I want it or not, it's my signature. It's my brand. It's hard to say an actor is a brand, but that's what happens. Some actors are brilliant character guys. They submerge. But once you do films like Rambo, you're no longer an actor; you're something different. When you watch John Wayne, you never go, "Oh, where's John Wayne, I can't find him, he's so deep into the character!" No, you can't play "normal" anymore. It's always playing a person involved in a cause. The older I get, the more I embrace it. It's affirming.

Did you ever say, "Screw Rocky, screw Rambo"?

Oh, totally. Many times. After Cop Land, I actually made a declaration: "I am done with action films!" Like I'm moving on to a world of…inaction. [laughs]

You said, "Action films have been all mined out. Mindless, senseless violence is going away."

Such bullshit. See, this is funny. You sit there and rationalize anything. "Mindless, senseless violence." My God, it's as natural as breathing, unfortunately. And Rambo understands that dark part of the mind and the soul. That's why it's a hard character to play. People may not think so. I say, "Here's my headband. Here's my knife. Try it."

Let's talk Rambo. You have three young girls, and there's a few moments in those films—and The Expendables—with violence toward women. Do you feel a responsibility for that?

No. The one thing I try to instill in my daughters is a lack of gullibility and that it's very easy to be a victim. You have to understand the propensity of violence that people can harbor. And that gullibility factor is… I'm trying to just weed it out of them. People say, "You're taking away their sense of innocence." No. They walk around with teddy bears, and they're as feminine as possible, but I want to show them this world is not Beverly Hills. I want them to understand that this is a violent, difficult, imperfect sphere we live on. I don't want you walking through New York City at 3 a.m. thinking everyone is your friend. If anything, I went light on the Burmese violence in Rambo. The violence is so horrendous that if I had put it down true, I would've been considered the incubus, Satan.

Here's my philosophy from now on in filmmaking: I have to consider each film my last film. I want no regrets. I want to say, "This is a story about Burmese civil war. Having done my research, I owe it to everyone, alive and dead, to try to be as truthful as possible." I can't make it a Rambo fantasy where everyone kisses and makes up.

With Rocky and Rambo, you've captured the tension that lives in men: romantic, family man, but also the rageful part.

Especially if you see something that you feel doesn't have your protection, like an innocent. When I see crimes perpetrated against children, I want to find this person myself. I get so panicked. If that had happened to my kid—the volcanic transition, I can't even fathom how bad it would be. I don't understand how society says, "Turn the other cheek." I'm going to remove the other cheek! I have nothing to live for. That spark is gone.

I've been perceived as a proponent of this kind of jingoistic saber-rattling. Rambo doesn't even live in America. So I took great offense when certain politicians made Rambo their boy. He has complete detachment from any political affiliation. He's America's waif, a Frankenstein's monster. He was created and then cut loose. But I was—what's that word they were using? A revisionist?

You don't get the respect from the Hollywood establishment you deserve.

You think? [laughs] I can't complain. I think a lot of it has to do with the way I came into the party.

But that was more than thirty years ago.

I get it, but I came in through the service entrance. You know, like at the Oscars, I didn't have a bow tie on. It had broken. Later I heard people thought I was disrespectful. I woulda tied a shoelace on—something—had I known.

How much money have you made for this town?

In college—one of those two weeks I was there—in Psychology 101, they said primary recognition is the longest lasting—

First impressions, you mean?

It's almost indelible. You see a guy, you say, "Ehhh…" And if twenty years later that guy has gone on, raised a family, but he still resembles a certain "He looks stupid." And you say, "He wrote all the Rockys!" "Doesn't matter, he's stupid." After a while, you gotta laugh. I get that the insults come with the characters I play. Rocky's blue-collar. He's a pug; on the outside he looks intimidating, scary. But Rocky's not stupid. He's simple. But he gets it. To the core. He understands who he is. He knows he can't win, but he knows there's something more important.

When people rip on you, does that hurt?

No. My life is like many performances; it's a duality. There's a public persona which is completely founded on the character you play. That's who people think you are. And when you do things that are out of character, you're held to that standard: "Rocky wouldn't do that." You have to realize that's out of your control. I'm not as simple or as ethical as Rocky, and I'm not as tough as Rambo. I'm impressionable and given to highs and lows—not depression but… I go through this carnival of emotions all the time. Do I know who I am? I know I'm incredibly unpredictable, and that's the only thing I'm sure of. And that's helped, because it's almost a sense of wonderment that has allowed me to think I can still do The Expendables, to still go into fantasyland, when everyone goes, "You should be in a fucking walker!"

There's a line in Rambo II: "Expendable means someone has a party, and if you don't show up, no one cares." I feel like that line is a mantra for you.

Well, we're all expendable. We think the world's going to stop when a pope dies, or a king. And then…life goes on.

Is that part of your philosophy?

Absolutely! One hundred percent. When John Wayne died, they said, "How are they ever going to fill that void?"

It's curious: Your career took off just after John Wayne died.

Exactly right. I have a picture, he and I together. I'm in my rented tux. But he did something, and I've done it to younger actors. I was at, I think, the People's Choice Awards. I was incredibly nervous, and all of a sudden this big fellow walks across the room—it's John Wayne! And I'm going, "Oh, my God!" I look over my shoulder. There's nobody. I am the target. And he goes, "I wanted to introduce myself. My name is John Wayne. Welcome to Hollywood." I was nobody. Zero! So when I would meet, like, Leonardo, I'd say, "I'm Sly Stallone. Welcome to Hollywood." I don't even know if they remember. So that influenced me very much: Here's a man that crossed the room for a fellow who was sort of invading his turf? That showed me a lot of character. Most guys are just the opposite.

Are there other people you learned from in Hollywood as you were coming up?

Kirk Douglas. He was full-on. A ballsy guy. And you carry a big mantle when you're a so-called action icon, because you don't want to think there's a shelf life, and so you depend on being vital. And it's a lot of responsibility. People think it's easy; it's not. It's not.

What's the hardest part of being an "action star"?

Not letting yourself feel as though you're, quote, "expendable." And that you're not really making a viable artistic or cinematic contribution. Action films are dismissed as "filler," when in fact they provide the money for "artistic films" to be financed. And when the time comes to give recognition, it's dismissed. "It's not filmmaking per se." Oh, it is. I've done Cop Land and I've done action films, and it's very hard to do a good action film. An action film has to build and build. Whereas a drama can go along at the same pace; at the end you go, "Oh. I'm moved."

But if the action film doesn't perform, it derails itself. It can be too top-heavy with action, not enough action, the characters are not there. I'm not saying I'm Scorsese, but what's being done in this genre… When I came into this there was no such thing as an action film. Films had beats of action, but they weren't designed as action films. First Blood comes along and people went, "Oh."

You once said, "There's a reason they're called motion pictures."

Exactly. Now it's something we couldn't even have conceived of. Avatar? Whoa.

But how much money do you think you've made for Hollywood?

Well, there's two ways to put it. Rocky was $1.70 a ticket, and it did $120 million. Now if you multiply that by today's price, $7 a ticket, it would've done $800 million by today's standards. And that's without DVDs. Straight box office. If you want to go by those standards, it's probably around…1.6?

Billion dollars?

Something like that.

So where's the respect for that?

I read, I think, that Arnold was 2.4, Bruce and I were 1.6—or I was 1.5. Who's counting?

I think people underestimate you.

There's a physicality. We're interpreted by primary impression. And away from film, I was physical. I work out a lot, and I didn't mingle in a lot of political circles. I thought you just went to premieres and everybody loved everybody. A kind of naïveté, I had. Peter Sellers gave me some incredible advice: "I'll never see you again, but remember the three H's: Hollywood Hates Happiness." And I thought, "That's bleak!" Nobody hopes everyone goes down in abject failure. I like the competition—Bruce, Arnold… It was invigorating. "He did that? I can do better!"

What do you think your legacy will be?

The character of Rocky, I'm fused to that. So his "never-give-up-ness" is…he, again, came through the service entrance. He dined with the staff, dined with kings, but at the end of the night he paid the check and left through the service entrance. I'll always have this blue-collar connection. For every guy, there is an opportunity to be a lot better than he thought he could be. We can't all be the star of the team, but we can be a star in our life. That's where you set your goal. And that is attainable, because if I did it, it's feasible.

What would you tell your sons to look for in a woman?

A person who revels in your absurdity, laughs at your jokes and your stupidity. You can be the master of the house and the court jester. That's what it's all about. Some days you're just the goofiest bastard in the world and others you're discussing the mortgage.

When your daughters start dating guys, what are you going to tell them to look for?

I'm going to tell them to look for body bags. And where do they want the pieces sent?

You don't want them dating?

I'm going to tell the guys my girls are on a hiking expedition in Egypt; they'll be gone five, six years. Them dating is not going to be fun. I'm totally not ready for it, because I know what lurks in everyone's heart.

What is that?

Conquest. They can't help it. It's the circle of life, and that wheel's rolling real close, and I don't want it rolling over my toes too soon.

What does your wife say about it?

She tends to be a bit more philosophical: "Sly, you can't threaten 12-year-olds." I say, "It works—really well."

Are you a religious man?

I'm pretty spiritual; I believe a lot in the spirit of man. I'm certainly not an atheist.… I was baptized Catholic, but I don't belong to a structured church. I have no opposition to it. I think there's great nuggets of knowledge in there, some wonderful rules to live by. Then the flip side is the amount of agony that's caused, which is, excuse me?

What's the biggest number Catholicism did on you?

Original sin. That guilt. How they say, If you really believe, you have to suffer for Jesus. Guys in military school would stick their hand into a cauldron of scalding water and yell, "I'm doing it for Jesus!" I was at a retreat, and the priest said, "If you can't hold your hand over this candle for five seconds, imagine what an eternity in hell will be like." I put my hand over the flame for two seconds, then I pulled it away. The priest says, "Sit down and be quiet!" I never got over that; it's like, "Eh, I'll give it a shot." Listen, I'm going to have to wrap this up.

Stallone shows me to the waiting room. The kid who buzzed me in is asleep at his desk. The clock says 12:15 p.m. Stallone looks at him, says nothing. I point to one of Stallone's paintings on the wall. He has been painting for twenty years. The piece is mostly black, with a red slash in the center.

Tell me about this.

The black is man. And the red, this is what he's searching for. A woman.

Interesting that the red, the woman, is the void in the center of the piece.

There you go.

That night, I get a call: Stallone wants me to come to his home the next day to see his art. He lives in the kind of gated community where there are gates beyond the gate. Stallone's gate is big and twisted, and there is a stone stallion rearing on two legs. A sign says Slow. Watch for insane dog. When I arrive, Stallone is at the front door. As he is about to walk toward me, I notice a large, fresh dog crap on his porch. Stallone steps toward it.

Watch out for that!

Oh, I put that there. [laughs] I did that just to keep it homey and real. Yeah…this is the house that Rocky built, that's for sure. [Stallone shows me inside. The walls are hung with many of his paintings, and we wander through, looking at them.] That's a thing I did about James Dean. I was doing a series on actors and their trials and tribulations.… Here's something interesting. [Stallone points me toward an old manual typewriter painted olive drab. On the keys, someone has glued bullets and military stars.] Billy Wilder made this typewriter for me. It's called Rambo's Typewriter. He said, "Here, tough guy, this is something I thought would interest you." I thought, Billy Wilder and Rambo, you can't get any further apart.

What films influenced you as a kid?

The thing that changed my life was Hercules starring Steve Reeves. [Stallone shows me another piece, in his living room.] This is again hearkening back to artists in trouble—Errol Flynn. He was always considered that era's Roman Polanski. And here he is, riding on the back of a young woman, and the hand pointing down is saying, "This is where you're going—where it's nice and warm."

Do you ever have any of those concerns about your own mortality?

I just know it's a foregone conclusion that I'm going to end up in a very cold, dark place.

Why do you say that?

I don't believe that we go anyplace. You make your heaven and hell right here, and you are what you leave behind. But don't think that you're going to change anything; you're not. Like these pharaohs; they thought they were gods. Gods don't die! End of fucking story!

Do you have a mantra?

"Be realistic, and take it as far as you can—but know your limitations. You can't be better than you are." Many people—and I've done it—overshoot their abilities, and then you have this incredible sense of rejection and anger. And the other is, "Listen to your inner voice." Who's going to betray you less?

You said something once which broke my heart: that you remembered two times that your mother ever kissed you.

Once. Once, fleetingly.

When was that?

I think it was when there was a divorce. I hope you put this in: I don't hold it against her, because she was treated that way, so she didn't know any better. But yeah, that was…

That pain never leaves us.

You don't ever, ever get over that. There's no closure for things that happen during your childhood. You're wet clay, and that's a dent that's been put in the clay. You can't buff or sand it out; it'll always have that fissure. So you've got to be careful, what you say to a kid; it buries itself in the heart like a hatchet. And you can't fix the wound. I don't care how much loving and kissing and adoration.

Your characters seem to come from a reservoir of pain.

There is that. When you're doing action films, you don't have to hone that as much. Films like Cop Land, you're always in that mood, and it often reminds you of things growing up. Mooding up is not therapeutic. It can put you in a dark place.

Did Cop Land kick your ass?

It did. I had to give up all my armor. My body had become like a suit of armor. It's what I felt I needed to get through life. Because I didn't have confidence in other areas, I thought, "I'll do it physically rather than intellectually or emotionally."

What would you be insecure about?

My voice. I have an impediment, and growing up it was pretty bad, so it was constant harassment. I hate my voice.

Are you still writing poetry?

I mostly write it to my wife. I have volumes of poetry.… Dante's Inferno and John Milton? Give it up! Paradise Lost? The guy wrote it blind. Hello! After Poe? Come on.

What will be on your tombstone?

I'd like to use a line from one of the movies. Like "It's not how hard you hit, it's how hard you can get hit that makes all the difference in your life." Or "It's how much you can take, and how much you can give." I really feel the survivors are the ones with good jaws. Not everyone has a punch, but if you can keep taking it, quite often you can prevail.

Is there something your father taught you that you still think about?

I inherited a kind of feistiness that I can definitely feel in Rambo. That's where it really comes out, that kind of…primal rage. My father would fight with anybody.

But you're not a violent guy.

[laughs] No, I'm not. I only get angry when honor has been dismissed or betrayed. I know it sounds corny, but when you wear your heart on your sleeve and you've been betrayed? My God, it's so deep, that wound. I fill up just thinking about it, and I identify with people who've been betrayed by someone they've loved. There's nothing worse.

So where does that come from, for you?

Oh, probably really early on. I don't want to get too psychological; people will say, "Oh, he's unhappy with his childhood." I didn't have a perfect childhood, but I'm a believer in this, too: I wouldn't be here with a perfect childhood. So whatever trials and tribulations, it provided me with enough ammunition and anger and competitiveness and insecurity to keep forging ahead. So I tell people, Embrace your frustration, your fears, because that's what makes life interesting. Nobody likes perfection; I want that flawed guy. He's there in spite of the flaws. And the hurts never go away. You can't get rid of memory.

In this house, what most defines you?

If it still existed? Or I could still have it?

You pick.

Well, it'd be a cowboy hat from like 1958. I was 11. It came with a cap pistol and a picture of a horse. Again, it was all about heroes. Wild Bill Hickok, Davy Crockett. So I got one of these cowboy hats. And that stupid thing—it was smelly, moldy, floppy—but man, whenever I put that hat on… [Stallone goes quiet, looks down, then bites his lip and turns away.]

Was it a gift?

Yeah, I think my mother bought it.

A few days later, I get a call from Stallone.

Mr. Stallone?

Hiiiiiiiii….

What's going on?

No, everything's fine. I just wanted to request that if you're gonna write anything about my mother, please make it neutral, because in our parents' minds, they think they're perfect.

I was intrigued by your memory of the cowboy hat.

Oh, I came up with something that's even more precious to me—a cardboard box that I've had since I'm 9 years old. And on this cardboard box is the first thing I ever drew.

What is that?

Believe it or not, a Masai warrior. I should have shown it to you. It was very detailed and exacting; you can see the savanna in the background, as this warrior, in full regalia, is coming over the hill holding a spear and a shield. And the design of the shield, it's very detailed, and I thought, God, it's the first thing I ever drew. I did it on a dry-cleaning box. I worked on it and worked on it, and I said, Finally I'm proud of something. I finally accomplished something artistically. Because, see, I'd always been considered this incorrigible menace. And my father comes home, and I wait for the proper moment after dinner, I said, "Look!" And I show him the box, on the back of which I've drawn the warrior. He looks at it and goes, "Where's the stuff that was in the box?" [laughing a little] But that was… There it is, in a nutshell.

Why a Masai warrior?

I was sitting at home, because I always spent a lot of time at home, and I wanted to impress my dad. I wanted to show that I am different than what he thinks I am. That I could actually do something worthwhile. That's what inspired me. So there was this album, a soundtrack, and there was a picture of this warrior. And I started to draw it, and I just nailed it. I thought, "Boy, he'll be really impressed." I drew the cover of his album that he loves so much, and all he says is, "Where's the stuff that was in the box?"

Maybe you should've said, "Where's the stuff that was in your heart?"

Yeah. I just wanted to pass that on to you.

Why—

But the mother thing's a real delicate matter.

Tell me about Edgar Allan Poe. You've been working on a Poe script forever. Why?

I was 21, and one day I went into the New York library and down into this cavernous space. The guard says, "It's a special writers section." I went in, and he says, "You might think this is interesting," and he pulled out a scroll by Poe. I started reading up on Poe and realized he is the epitome of the misunderstood artist. The more he remained true to himself, the worse it got. I went, "Wow." The other part that I related to—he was a young man who started with all this enthusiasm and originality, and in the end he was scorned for it. His dilemma was contemporary. He was hip well before his time.

So do you identify with him?

I do. I don't identify with his genius, because it's far beyond anything I could imagine. But it was like Rocky—he was just incredibly misunderstood. And eventually he gave up trying to find financial success and was just trying to find love. And I went, Jesus, what trauma! And I just related to all the pathos.

So you've written a script, right?

Yeah. I've written about ten scripts.

Do you think you'll ever do it?

I don't know if I could ever live up to the hype. Poe fanatics—I mean in an intellectual sense—they would tear me to pieces. My take is very simple: He's a misunderstood artist.

Are you a misunderstood artist?

Completely. Candidly? Yeah, and one of the reasons is, the subjects I've played, it's assumed that I am that person. And when I would try to be Sylvester Stallone, it threw people off. I was this enigma. A lot of actors were presented with wonderful projects, and they rose to the occasion. I had to write my own material. I didn't have a pedigree, like how DeNiro came through Brian De Palma. With me it was, "Who? Where'd he come from?" I was this outsider. And in some way I still sort of am. I live here, but I've never felt comfortable. I wish I were. Or they've never felt comfortable. I've never quite blended. I used to say to my wife, "I would love just to be able to act and have wonderful scripts and wonderful directors." It just has never been my lot in life. It's always been do-it-yourself.

If you could tell people in Hollywood something that they don't understand about you, what would you tell them?

God, that's a tough one. These people don't understand: I am this person. But as I get older, it's all about what you do that really tells the truth. Words? Anyone can produce words. But actions…they really do speak louder than words. So I guess I am what you see. The art, the movies, the ideology in the films that I'm involved in, is really who I am. That's my philosophy. Even though I wallow in pessimism, in the end I'm optimistic. So it's that ongoing battle.

Yeah, and it's not true at all. That's the character I play. But yeah, I'm a hopeless romantic. It's impossible to do six Rockys without saying, That's pretty close to who he is. One of the toughest days of my life was that last day making Rocky Balboa. I said, "I'm never gonna find this friend again. It's like I am losing part of my soul. I'll never be able to voice myself the way I was able. 'Cause this guy was allowed to do that." I lost the greatest character I'll ever come close to.

Rocky will live forever, like the Little Tramp. Amazing.

It is. When people ask, "How did you do it?" I say, "It was one of those very rare occurrences." When Chaplin—you know the stories—when he was trying on different hats? And he found this one that was too big and his shoes were too large? That was genius. But he knew, subconsciously, that if you played this little guy who had all this heart but he looked like a fool? But inside, he was brave and heartfelt and ethical. That's why Chaplin never came close again. With Rocky, they didn't want me to wear a hat: "You look like a thug with a hat." I said, "But that's part of his armor…like the Little Tramp. That's his uniform. And everything that he wears speaks volumes." Chaplin got that, and I guess I borrowed that.

Did you create Rocky's wardrobe yourself?

That was my wardrobe! I still have it at home. Yeah! We didn't have budget for wardrobe. I bought that coat when I was 19 and living in Philadelphia. I bought it at E. J. Korvette for like $32. It was half leather and half something from Korea. When I thought about the character, I went, "I got the black pants, the boots." Anyway, I gotta run, brother. It was great talking to you.

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